Blame it on the Bubbly
by GraeLiars
Summary: "Did you just quote a Michael Jackson song?" During her first official date with Mr. William Darcy, Lizzie comes to learn a lot about the former enigma and his world. LBD Universe. Rating to be safe.
1. Lessons 1 - 5

_Hello All! I decided to experiment with a different couple, this time choosing Lizzie Bennett and William Darcy from _The Lizzie Bennett Diaries – _a reimagining of Jane Austen's fabulous _Pride and Prejudice _as told by a series of vlogs. For anyone not already aware of it GO AND CHECK IT OUT RIGHT NOW! Youtube 'Lizzie Bennett Diaries', then say good-bye to about three days of your life whilst you get addicted and watch all 100 episodes. You may think I'm joking – im not. But don't worry, its totally worth it _

_Anyhow, this was largely written before the happenings of Ep 99, so don't expect it to include De Bourg (?) or Lizzie's Mum. Just Darcy and Lizzie. This is a Part of 1 of 2, and its not very interesting to start off with. Hopefully its not too dull. Also, i wasn't sure whether I should put it in the Web shows category or the P+P category. The bulk of others I've seen have been in pride and prejudice so thats what i went with. Hopefully no one gets offended or annoyed by it (apologies if you do)._

_Please Review – they brighten my day _

_**Disclaimer: **__as the title of this very site suggests this is not my own work. All credit goes to the fabulously fabulous people who created them (and, subsequently, stole large amount of my time by creating something so addictive I had to watch it all. Multiple times.)_

* * *

**Lesson 1: Bubbly Makes Darcy Bubbly**

Lizzie knows it is no coincidence that Mr. Fitz Williams video-calls her (using the Domino app Gigi has forced her to buy) at approximately 6:48pm on Saturday. Fitz smiles at her in that big cheesy way of his (which has become even cheesier since Episode 98 aired almost a month ago) and asks what her plans are for the evening. Lizzie knows that Fitz knows that tonight is kind of important – her and Darcy are going out to dinner.

To a very nice restaurant.

By themselves.

Some might even go as far as to call it 'a date'.

For the record, Lizzie Bennett is _not _one of those people. Darcy's told her he loves her multiple times, she has confessed to only wanting to be with him, and they have been seeing a lot of each other. And they've kissed. A lot. Calling dinner a date seems a little bit unnecessary and juvenile. So it's not a date. _It's just dinner_.

Fitz, it would appear, does not share her view.

When she tells him she's going to be having dinner down by The Mariner, Fitz inquires with whom shall she be dining. Chewing the inside of her lip she knows there's no point denying it – he clearly already knows, and denying it will only make things more painful.

"Darcy," she replies flatly, and hopes to appear nonchalant as she runs a hand through her hair. A smile literally explodes across his face.

"Ah yes! The date!"

She scowls at him the best she can (its kind of hard when he always looks so dopey with his big fuzzy hair) and rolls her eyes.

"It's _not _a date."

"I'm pretty sure it is."

"I'm positive its not."

"Does your dearest William share your views?"

She blanches. That did not sound right. _At all_.

"Ok, don't ever call him that again."

Fitz grins at her widely and she's fairly sure he's not going to abide by her request. Given that its Fitz, she really shouldn't expect anything different. After several moments of him rocking on his heels smiling at her, Lizzie finally breaks the painful silence.

"Is there a purpose to this call Fitz?"

His smile (somehow) expands and his eyes grow mischievous. Lizzie is suddenly painfully aware why Fitz and Gigi are so close.

"Actually, I wanted to give you some advice…"

"Advice?" she sounds a touch more incredulous than she planned and he seems to back-peddle, holding up his free hand in mock defense.

"Ok, not advice," he shrugs – turns out he's as bad as acting nonchalant as she is, "More like, _interesting information_ about your beloved."

That was probably worse than _dearest William_. She raises an eyebrow but he continues to speak before she has a chance to scold him.

"Knowing Darcy, when he orders wine, he'll go straight for a red, probably a Merlot from a very good vintage," Fitz sounds strangely serious; its like he's planning a military attack, not beverages, "It'll be something he knows and enjoys, and he won't think twice before ordering it. But you have to stop him."

Seriously? He was treating this as if it was a matter of national security. Lizzie couldn't remember a time she'd seen him look so somber.

"Stop him?" she's as curious as she is weary – a serious Fitz was not something to be treated lightly.

"Yes – _do not let him buy the red_!" Lizzie is startled by his command and feels ever so slightly worried. Maybe she didn't know Darcy as well as she thought she did? Maybe this dinner was a bad idea…

Fitz's voice interrupts her thoughts. "Now here comes the most important bit – are you listening Lizzie B?"

She nods, fairly sure she can't actually speak at the moment. Fitz's words are slow and deliberate, like he's talking to a confused child (she doesn't like it).

"Make. Him Buy. The bubbly."

"Bubbly?" well that wasn't what she was expecting, "Like Champagne?"

"Yep."

"Why?" she raises a suspicious eyebrow and narrows her gaze. Fitz's eyes grow wide and she honestly thinks his smile may actually break his face.

"Oh, you'll see," he winks again and she has no confidence in the gesture.

"No, no, no; tell me. _Now_."

He almost buzzes with excitement.

"Because when Darcy drinks bubbly," Fitz pauses for effect; his eyebrows wiggling animatedly, "Let's put it this way, the lobster goes from being agoraphobic to hysterical."

"What?"

Rather than offering proper elaboration, Fitz waves at the camera energetically and calls '"Catch ya later, Lizzie B!" before hanging up. Just like that. She didn't trust the twinkle in Fitz's eyes and she most certainly didn't trust his wildly animated eyebrows.

Lizzie decides then and there not to order the Champagne.

At least she wasn't going to – not until she actually saw Darcy.

Things were, well, _weird._ It was as if dinner at a nice restaurant with just the two of them caused a malfunction in the Darcy-Bot (even though she swore she'd never call him that again, he had retreated to his abrupt, robotic self of old) and he suddenly loses the ability to speak to her casually again. He tucks his chin into his neck and speaks in a monotone manner that reminds her about an old political science lecturer she had (and not in a good way). The car ride over is stagnant, the conversation more painfully forced than its been in quite a while, and when they sit down at the very exclusive table at the very exclusive restaurant he's brought her to, he begins perusing the menu straight away without so much as a glance in her direction.

Within five painfully long minutes of sitting, quietly discussing the menu (most of the words on which Lizzie doesn't understand), she feels so self-conscious and uncomfortable and _just plain awkward_ that she feels she has to do something.

So when the waiter asks what they'd like to drink, Lizzie dives in despite the fact that they addressed _Mr. Darcy _directly. Her abrupt word vomit freezes Darcy mid-syllable. He stares at her strangely for a second before asking her to repeat herself.

"I…uh…" _when has she ever in her entire life been at a loss for words?_ "I was thinking we should have some champagne! You know, if that's ok with you?"

Lizzie realizes she sounds strangely reminiscent of Gigi when she requested help on her Math – 'hidden agenda' practically spews from her words.

"Champagne?" he questions with a semi-pained expression on his face. She can't be sure, but Lizzie thinks that it may actually be fear spreading across his features.

"Yep," she nods overenthusiastically and adds in a smile for good measure, "We should celebrate finally having a first date."

Lizzie cringes to herself over the use of the word 'date' (because it is _not _a date). Darcy, thankfully, doesn't seem to register her cringe, but he also doesn't seem convinced that they should have the Champagne. In fact, he appears to be mentally devising a convincing argument for the 20-year-old Merlot of a particularly good vintage. Lizzie hates herself for it, but he's driven her to emotional blackmail.

"I really, really _love _champagne," she insisted, adding a little bit of a pout she's learnt from Lydia (_bah! Learning from Lydia, who'd have thought_), "It would really make my night. Please?"

His face softens into an expression she will someday learn to classify as defeat (he doesn't show it often, as the only people that cause this reaction are Gigi and Lizzie) and he lets out a heavy breath before turning back to the waiter.

"We'll have the 1998 Dom Ruinart, thank you."

"Excellent choice, sir."

The waiter takes the wine list from Darcy's grasp and retreats without a sound. Lizzie feels ever so slightly guilty for doing it, but she figures if he hadn't been so damned awkward she wouldn't be forced to use emotional blackmail and confidential information against him.

Her guilt evaporates by the time they finish their entrees. Both two glasses down, things are not only relaxed – they're_ fun_. Darcy finally morphs back into the man she'd come to know these past few months, and she finds herself laughing more than she has in a long time. He makes little cynical comments and sarcastic quips that she can't help but fire back energetically. They have mock arguments just for the sake of arguing, and she finds that she has never had more fun on any date than what she is right now. Because now, as he holds her hand on top of the table and strokes her knuckles with his thumb, it is most certainly a date.

* * *

**Lesson 2: 'Spatchcock' Is Actually a Juvenile Chicken (but that doesn't change the fact it has a stupid name)**

Things get interesting when they discuss an odd dish on the menu.

"_Spatchcock?"_ Lizzie questions with an overly dramatic quizzical look (due in part to the first flute of champagne she all-but inhaled), "What on Earth is a Spatchcock?"

"It's fowl," Darcy responds casually. Slightly put out by his abrupt response, Lizzie blanches momentarily.

"Ok – I'll avoid that one."

He looks at her with genuine curiosity, "Do you have an aversion to poultry?"

"No," where did that connection come from? Apparently she's not the only one that's confused judging by the look on Darcy's face.

"Then why are you avoiding the Spatchcock?"

"Because you said it was foul."

His face softens into a smile that she feels is a little too pompous for her liking.

"No I meant _fowl_," he explains, still with an air of arrogance, "F-O-W-L. Game, poultry."

"Then why didn't you just say poultry?"

"I did."

"No, you said it was fowl."

"The terms are interchangeable."

"Yes, but when the term fowl can also be used to describe something distasteful, it makes more sense to use poultry instead," she knows the way she's sipping her champagne is just as haughty as his smile but she doesn't care – two can play this game.

"Regardless," there's a twinkle in his eye as he recognizes the challenge and rises to it, "I was still apt in my description."

"Yes but not precise nor clear."

He smirks at her as he picks up his own glass, "To you perhaps."

That was a line that would have really riled her up once upon a time; now she just glares at him whilst trying to suppress her smile.

They're silent for a few moments, casually reading through the menu, before Lizzie breaks it.

"So what's a spatchcock?" she knows it frustrates him. Which is excellent.

"Didn't we just cover this?" he tries to sound frustrated, but the smile he clearly can't keep off his features gives him away.

"We agreed it was poultry, but what _type _of poultry was never confirmed."

It's getting harder to keep her smile at bay, so she chooses instead to have another sip of wine. The fabulously bubbly wine that makes her head feel light and wobbly.

"Type of poultry?" he tries to sound incredulous. He fails, "Is poultry not enough of a descriptor as it is?"

"Not at all!" now she's just messing with him, "Poultry is an extremely broad category – ducks, geese, chickens, swans, _emus!_"

And _pew_! Up shoots the eyebrow. "I hardly think a restaurant in San Francisco will be serving Emu."

"So you don't even know what Spatchcock is?" Triumph!

"Of course I do – it's a juvenile chicken." Or not. Stupid Darcy knowing everything about everything.

Damn it was sexy. (_FOCUS LIZZIE –_ _you are having a dignified argument with William Darcy about the origins and nature of a spatchcock. You need to bring your A-Game.)_

Only now does it occur to her that Spatchock is a very funny word. And that it involves the word 'cock'. She tries not to giggle.

"Then why don't they just call it a little chicken?" she challenges once she can get her brain back on track.

"Because they call it a spatchcock."

"Yes but _why_?"

"Why not?" Well now he's just being childish.

"Because it's a little chicken – that's a suitable name. The term 'Spatchcock' is redundant," she flicks her hair over one shoulder with a snobby kind of air. Darcy smirks and meets the challenge, sipping his champagne in a manner one can only describe as 'pompous' before continuing.

"But as Spatchcock is the juvenile form of the chicken it must precede it," Diplomatic Darcy was out in force tonight, "It makes no sense to call something a miniature version of something else when it came before the thing it is named after."

"Then why don't they just call a chicken a big spatchcock instead of having two different words for what is, essentially, the same _thing_ just at different stages of its life cycle?" She didn't seem to realize, but she had begun to lean towards the center of the table.

"By that logic is makes no sense to use the term 'child'," Darcy didn't notice, but he began to lean in too, "You're suggesting we instead simply call them all 'Little Adults'?"

"No," wait – why was she grinning? This was supposed to be an argument; grinning was not allowed in an argument unless it was sarcastic. This didn't feel sarcastic. So why was she grinning? "Because that would, again, mean terming something a smaller version of a thing that doesn't exist yet."

"But it does exist – there must be an adult in order for there to be a child," his eyes darken and his voice lowers as his fingers begin to lightly rub the underside of her wrist (_Seriously? It was her wrist – that was not supposed to feel sexy!)_ "You are familiar with the 'Bird and the Bees' are you not, Miss. Bennett?"

Wait a second.

Did Darcy – _William Darcy_ – just make an indirect reference to sex, right here, at the table? _Whilst caressing her skin?!_

And just like that, the sexual tension in the room rises by about a bajillion percent (that's right, _bajillion_). Lizzie managed to stop picturing him naked long enough to lean in closer to retort with some witty and mildly suggestive innuendo.

Or at least she would have, had the waiter not chosen that precise moment to ask them if they would like to order. She looks away quickly and leans back, suddenly a little embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. She indiscreetly goes about trying to straighten her napkin where it sits on her lap.

Darcy has stopped drawing patterns on her wrist, but his hand still rests on her own where it sits on the table between them. He sits up tall and away from her before gesturing to the menu, apparently about to enquire about something. Lizzie fully expects him to mention the Spacthcock, and takes a sip (_read: gulp_) of champagne while he no doubt plans to make fun of her _uncultured _nature.

"This lobster you list," Darcy begins in his usual 'all business' tone of his, the waiter looking enthralled and willing to help in any way possible. Lizzie raises an eyebrow.

"Do you by any chance know if it's agoraphobic?"

Lizzie is very thankful they are in such a secluded part of the restaurant, for she can do nothing to withhold the very loud (and rather vulgar) laugh that bursts from her mouth.

Unfortunately, it's accompanied by some of her champagne.

On the window beside them overlooking the lovely view of the city is now a nice shimmering layer of spit and champagne. Lizzie can't think of a moment in her entire life when she's been less civilized, but its hard to care when you're wheezing and crying from laughter.

Darcy continues to look at the waiter, completely ignoring her little show she's putting on (the waiter isn't).

"See my girlfriend here has a particular liking for agoraphobic lobsters," he turns to look at her, a highly amused kind of twinkle in his eye, "Isn't that right, Lizzie?"

Lizzie can't answer; she's too busy trying not to laugh up a lung. Darcy dismisses the waiter after a moment or two and tells him they should be ready to order in about another 15 minutes or so.

Suddenly Fitz and Darcy's being friends doesn't seem so strange.

* * *

**Lesson 3: Darcy is a Ninja**

She's watching him. Constantly.

The staff leaves them alone for the most part, deciding that its best to just let them argue and laugh on their own lest they be showered with champagne like the unfortunate window.

There isn't another occupied table for at least a solid ten feet.

Lizzie knows _she _isn't responsible for it.

So how on Earth does her glass seem to keep refilling itself?

Every time she thinks she's almost at the end of the glass, it is magically filled with sparkling exquisite Champagne that she is quite sure she will never be able to afford again in her life time (unless of course Darcy hangs around for a while and continues to buy it for her. Maybe he could buy it every year for their anniversary? Maybe they could serve it at their wedding? _Whoa! Hold your horses Missy – no 'W' word, or any other word relating to marriage or the consequences of such round here thank you very much_).

There is only one logical explanation; William Darcy is a ninja. Which is hot.

(_Is Ninja-ism inherited? Because if so, they would have some kick-ass babies – WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT NO MARRIAGE TALK?!)_

* * *

**Lesson 4: When it comes to matters involving Darcy, Fitz knows all**

Every time she makes even a somewhat amusing comment he laughs openly without abandon, his cheeks growing red and, on occasion, his eyes tearing up merrily. Lizzie is quite certain she has never witnessed anything more hilarious or uplifting than a bumbling, giggling William Darcy.

That is, of course, until approximately 9:02pm, when certain events cause her to change her mind. It is then that Lizzie decides _the most hilarious thing in the entire universe_ is William Darcy – who is oh so perfect and precise and orderly in every facet of his life – messily waltzing with her around the patio.

He said he owed her a proper dance after the uncomfortable situation at the Gibson wedding, and goes about rectifying the situation on the patio of the very expensive restaurant he's brought her to. They have to try and navigate around chairs and tables and the occasional expensive sculpture, but Darcy seems very confident in his dancing abilities. Lizzie isn't. This, apparently, only serves to increase his determination to prove her wrong.

"As long as you follow my lead, Lizzie Bennett," he takes hold of her waist and hand and Lizzie does her best not to swoon, "Then we will be fine."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but has no time to retort as he begins to waltz (or at least that's what he's claiming they're doing) around the hazardous area. They do ok for about a minute and a half.

Then it all turns to poo.

He spins her out a little quicker than her brain can handle, then tugs her in much harder than her feet can handle, and their dance ends abruptly when she accidentally kicks him in the shin and manages to wind him with a sharp elbow-jab to his solar plexus at the same time. She apologizes profusely through her giggles, and he somehow manages to stagger to a chair before collapsing, clutching his sides. Darcy does all he can to scowl at her, he really honestly does, but when she offers to kiss it better for him later he finds his anger disappears rather quickly.

They sit giggling uncontrollably on the patio as Darcy recovers, his hand still grasping hers as she sits in his lap. Lizzie makes a mental note to thank Fitz about the champagne – turns out it was a brilliant idea after all. And about Darcy having moves – the man can dance. Even if she can't.

* * *

**Lesson 5: Darcy Knows Michael Jackson**

When it takes her a considerable amount of effort to navigate the stairs leading out of the restaurant in her (ridiculous) high heels, Lizzy finds herself demanding to know just what evil spirit has caused the fuzziness in her head and the wobbliness in her legs. She suspects it may have been the deliciously delicious champagne she made Darcy buy. He walks beside her, a hand on her back to guide her, his walking almost as wobbly as her own (though not quite, because he's sensible and perfect. Stupid adorable bastard).

"Well you know what they say…" he suddenly stops speaking to help her down the last step that she seems to be having particular trouble navigating. She steps down, stumbles a little, and falls into her chest. It's quite nice here. Very nice indeed. She decides she might stay, right here, with her head resting against his chest, her arms encircling his waist, and his arms holding her close. Yep, it's definitely a nice place to take up residency.

"Prey tell, William Darcy," she says with a smile, feeling incredibly powerful when she sneaks a peek at him because no one else ever makes him look like this – all dark eyes and deep breathing and _dreamy,_ "What do they say?"

He begins speaking as stoically and business-like as possible for a man as drunk as he is.

"Well, they say don't blame it on the sunshine. Don't blame it on the moonlight. Don't blame it on the good times," he leans in conspiratorially with a cheeky kind of a grin and a perfect eyebrow raised just the way she likes it, "Blame it on the bubbly."

It takes a minute for her brain to connect the dots, but once they do, stunned realization (and perhaps a little smidgen of awe) brightens in Lizzie's eyes.

"Did you just quote a Michael Jackson song?"

He tucks his chin into his neck and looks away from her in possibly the most adorably shy gesture she's ever managed to witness with her own two eyes.

"…Maybe…"

* * *

_Ok, so that was lessons 1 through 5. Lessons 6 through 11 (or possibly 12) will be up soonish, i just have to finish writing the last few. Hope you enjoyed it, i promise it will get more interesting. _

_Please review :)_


	2. Lessons 6 - 12

_Hi Everyone! Wow, you Dizzie-shippers are really out in force, aren't you? I was stunned and flattered by the amount of follows I received; I only hope the story lives up to expectations. Apologies for any grammar or spelling errors - this has been written very disjointedly in the wee hours of the morning_

_This installment gets a little steamier than the last – hence the rating – but nothing explicit. Again, I don't own the characters but that doesn't mean I don't love them. _

_Enjoy and please review :)_

* * *

**Lesson 6: Darcy has a driver. And he's a very lovely man.**

Darcy has a driver.

Seriously.

His name is James.

Lizzie makes a point of formally introducing herself to him when she tumbles into the back of Darcy's car (a good investment seeing as, clearly, neither of them are in an appropriate state to drive and she doesn't want to battle the unforgiving hills in these shoes). He smiles at her kindly in the rearview mirror and introduces himself to her very politely.

His name is James.

Wait? Did she say that already? Gosh she can't remember.

Darcy greets James in a much more jovial manner than normal judging by the way James' eyes widen then settle into a self-satisfied kind of a smirk as he greets _Mr. Darcy_ in return. Lizzie insists that he should just call him Darcy because everyone calls him Darcy except of course Gigi because she calls him William because it would be weird if Gigi called her own brother Darcy because _she's _a Darcy too and that would be weird and does James know Gigi, because he would probably like Gigi because she is a very nice girl although apparently not very good at math but _very good _at forcing her loved ones into awkward situations and could someone close the damn door, its too bloody cold outside!

James just smiles and says that yes, he has met Miss. Darcy, and yes, she is very nice, although he cannot confirm nor deny her mathematic abilities. Darcy shuts the door. Lizzie thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. Which somehow misses his cheek and hits his lips instead (she has no idea how that happened). And somehow it stops being just a nice quick peck and becomes something she realizes, in retrospect, probably makes James very uncomfortable. Judging by the way he clears his throat once she's practically sitting in Darcy's lap (which totally wasn't her idea by the way – he pulled her in she swears), she thinks she's pretty correct with that assumption. They break apart quickly, both blushing like they're school kids who have been caught kissing behind the bike sheds.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Darcy," his words are laced with a kind of arrogance that whispers _I know what would have happened if I didn't…_, "But where am I dropping Miss. Bennett –"

"_Lizzie!_" she insists as she settles herself in the corner of the seat far away from Darcy to avoid anymore 'inappropriate activity'. James bows his head in apology.

"Sorry, where am I dropping _Lizzie_ off?"

She was going to give the address of the hotel she was staying at, honest to God she was, but Darcy interrupts.

"At home, thanks James."

"Oh really?" she looks at Darcy, whose eyes are still dark and its not fair because it does funny things to her insides, "Didn't think you'd run that by me first?"

"I'm only thinking of the well-being of the planet, Lizzie dear," he tries to look haughty and authoritative but when his face is flushed it doesn't really work.

"Really?" she raises an eyebrow accusingly and smirks, "And how, pray tell, is my coming back to your home saving the planet?"

"Because…" he pauses to swallow a hiccup – cue giggle from Lizzie – "Because going to your place means more fossils in the air. And fossils in the air kill the planet. So you should just come to my place."

"Fossils?" Lizzie does not understand. Like, at all. Darcy doesn't seem to understand it much better judging by the look on his face. James – lovely, lovely James who has started driving the car _very slowly_ which Lizzie appreciates very much – elaborates.

"I believe Mr. Darcy –"

"_Darcy!_"

"Right, what I believe…_Darcy_," he seems to physically struggle to leave the 'Mr' off his bosses name, "Is trying to say is that driving to your place means using more petrol, which means burning more fossil fuels, which harms the environment. Therefore it would be beneficial to the wellbeing of the planet if you were to just stay at the Darcy residence. Not to mention it would abide by Permberley Digital's respect for the environment and efforts to decrease its carbon footprint."

Darcy beams – honest to God _beams_ – at James in the rearview mirror with a kind of awe in his eyes. James isn't just a good driver; he's a great wingman. It also gives Lizzie a legitimate excuse to go back to Darcy's pace without feeling guilty. James is very lovely indeed. She likes James.

* * *

**Lesson 7: Darcy is **_**Very **_**Persuasive**

She should have known it the minute she saw him; with a face like that and eyes like those it really shouldn't be surprising. But for some reason Lizzie still counts it as a lesson learned that William Darcy is _extremely _persuasive.

"It would really be safer," he reasons, his voice surprising diplomatic despite the fact that he has to lean against the doorframe to stop himself from swaying. Not that Lizzie notices his inability to stand still – in all honesty she's finding it hard to focus on anything other than his eyes and how close his lips are.

"Safer," she nods in agreement and for some reason can't stop the rather dorky smile fixed onto her features, "Safety _is_ important."

"Indeed," he swallows a hiccup, and the face he pulls in doing so causes her to snort very indignantly. Even in the dark (they didn't want to turn on any lights lest they wake up Gigi and, in Darcy's words, '_Suffer the consequences_,') she can tell he's pulling a stupid face.

"Buuut," she plays with his tie and she swears that he makes a noise something akin to a groan, or possibly it was just a heavy sigh. Whatever it was it made her toes curl, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me, Darcy."

"I wouldn't," he leans in and starts playing with the sleeve of her jacket, "I promise."

She'll be damned if his voice shouldn't be counted as a weapon against women. It really was too velvety and soft and coaxing to be considered any good to anyone. When he wraps a stray curl of her hair around his finger she admits defeat to herself, subconsciously pulling his tie, and therefore him, closer towards her.

"So you wouldn't try to make a move, would you?" how were his hands so soft? "Because it would just be sharing a bed – nothing else."

"Of course; no tomfoolery," he smiles, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips, "Strictly for safety reasons – so you don't get lost in the morning."

"Right," she agrees, pulling him closer without her brain's permission to do so, "Because I don't want to get lost."

"Exactly; but it will be like I'm not there," she can feel his breath on her lips as she closes her eyes, "We won't even cuddle."

When his lips press against hers, Lizzie completely forgets who she is and the fact that she had assured herself tonight was just a casual dinner. She forgets that they were going to take things slowly given the rollercoaster the past year had been, or that Gigi could stumble across them if she's still awake. Lizzie forgets everything except how she feels right now in this moment. Given how Darcy is kissing her back, she's fairly sure she's not the only one.

She slides her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck and buries her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, taking delight in the little noise he makes when she does so. He pulls her against him tighter, one hand planted in the middle of her back, the other at the base, fixing their hips together. For a man so damned stoic and severe all the time, he kisses like he's starved of affection; like he needs this moment to simply go on living (there's a voice at the back of her head that says quietly in it's all knowing tone: _that's because he's in love_. And she finds that instead of terrifying her like it once would have, now it just makes her smile and kiss him harder).

They're definitely going to be sharing a bed. No question.

She's suddenly feeling light-headed for an entirely different reason than before. Darcy turns them and pushes her against the wall of the large corridor he's brought her down, his lips leaving hers to begin to explore her neck. She hears herself take a sharp intake of breath then (oh god, this is embarrassing) moan when his hand slips under the blouse she's wearing to caress her skin. And then the cheeky bastard smiles. She might begrudge him the fact had she not smiled too.

His lips and tongue do things that she's quite sure shouldn't actually be legal, forcing her to pull his mouth back to her own before she melts in a puddle right there in the hallway. His fingers drag slowly down her back, warranting her to arch involuntarily. He seems pleased with her reaction. _Very pleased._

Lizzie takes the opportunity to regain a sliver of dignity by getting him back. She untucks the front of his shirt and glides her hands very slowly from his belly button to the base of his back. He moans – yes, really – the second her hands make contact and she thinks this is what people mean when they say 'too much of a good thing can be bad'. Surely feeling this good can't be good for her. It shouldn't be healthy to feel this great.

It's several moments before they come up for air, which is desperately needed by that point. She rests her forehead against his own and watches as he internally tries to calm himself down (which is adorable, though she wouldn't mind continuing). Darcy recovers his breath before her.

"So," his words come out as little more than a croak, so he clears his throat to try and speak, "We should really," he swallows, his voice still not quite recovered, "Get to bed."

She smiles and quirks an eyebrow to which he quickly attempts to cover his tracks.

"Separately," he reassures her, but his eyes flicker deceptively to her lips, "Same bed. But no mischief. No cuddling."

Lizzie cannot describe the feeling of pride and ecstasy that comes over her as she surveys how disheveled and messy he looks. She is the one person in the known universe who is capable of making William Darcy look messy. From his bruised lips to his scruffy hair, to his untucked shirt – this is the least put together Darcy has ever looked. And it's sexy as hell.

She leans in and kisses him softly at the corner of his mouth before whispering, "I perhaps wouldn't mind the odd cuddle…"

* * *

**Lesson 8: Darcy Owns Sweats (and seeing her in them makes him go strange)**

William Darcy actually owns sweats. For some reason this surprises Lizzie. Judging by his overall physique (not that she spends much time thinking about his physique – _she doesn't!_) it really shouldn't – the man is clearly physically active to have arms and a chest like that. And he can't very well exercise in his suits or newsie gear can he?

_(Although, he is Darcy…._)

They eventually get to his bedroom after walking for what Lizzie considers a very long distance for a house. She is 90% sure that his house may actually be bigger than a museum –

Oh God.

It just hits her that she is currently standing in William Darcy's bedroom.

_Breathe Lizzie. Just remember to breathe._

He hesitates when they cross the threshold, not sure if he should say something, or just keep walking. He turns his head in her direction but when she looks back at him he hesitates again and looks away.

"I'll get you something to sleep in," he mutters before letting go of her hand and walking stiffly towards something in the corner. Turns out, instead of the dresser she assumed he was heading towards, he goes to a set of double doors. Double doors that lead to a walk-in wardrobe.

Dear Lord. Lydia would have a fit.

He returns several moments later with an impeccably folded set of gym clothes, complete with socks. She smiles at him to which he does that quick, stiff smile of his that usually means he's uncomfortable. She doesn't know why.

He leads her over to another door on the opposite side of the room and turns on a light in the room it leads to.

Ensuite wasn't an appropriate term. The room she currently stood in was straight out of one of those upper class, interior design magazines – all white and shiny and stylish and huge. Again, he looks awkward. He leaves her to get changed.

And now she finds herself standing in William Darcy's personal bathroom, wearing a pair of his old running shorts and an old, much-loved Harvard training shirt. And some socks. He has marvelous taste in socks. Perfect for sock slides. She doesn't think she'll be giving them back. Walking back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom (which is now illuminated by a solitary lamp beside his bed), she suddenly feels a lot more sober than she did moments ago.

His bed is huge.

Like, _ginormous._

She's never seen a bed so gigantic (how did she miss it before?). And sitting there as far across the other side of it as possible sits William Darcy.

Correction: Sitting there, as far across the other side of this gigantic bed as possible, sit a _shirtless _William Darcy.

Suddenly gravity seems a much stronger force than normal and threatens to pull her to the ground. She manages to keep herself upright (_take that gravity!_) and walk towards the bed on ever so slightly shaky knees. Darcy, whom had been doing something on his phone when she exited the bathroom, turned to look at her somewhat apprehensively.

He freezes.

His face contorts briefly into some sort of look that she cannot define as his eyes rake over her slowly. When his eyes find her own, he snaps his head back to the wall in front of him.

"Right, well," he looks around awkwardly before nodding to her, uttering a curt "Good night", and turning away to face the opposite side of the room. She stares at his back (_was it actually possible for a back to be freakishly attractive? Apparently yes_), completely baffled that the man before her is the same man who had been doing those deliciously illegal things to her neck just minutes ago. Too tired (and quite frankly, nervous) to keep thinking about the odd behavior of Darcy, she slides into the bed being careful not to come into contact with him at all. Not that its difficult – she's sure she would need to go on an expedition to get to the other side of this enormous bed. Once she's settled, Darcy turns off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness. Lizzie tries to sleep, but finds it fails her.

* * *

**Lesson 9: Lizzie can be quite persuasive too.**

Lizzie had innocent enough intentions. All she had wanted was a glass of water. She was a grown woman and was very capable of walking to the bathroom and getting herself a glass of delicious hydrating water to erase the stale feeling she could feel swelling up in her mouth (because she had not fallen asleep as quickly as Darcy who was practically comatose _somewhere _in this ginormous bed of his. Where exactly she didn't know because he was so freaking far away from her person she couldn't reach him by inconspicuously reaching her hand across in his direction. It was most annoying). So all she had had to do was crawl out of this illegally comfortable bed, shuffle over to the bathroom that she was sure she could find eventually. It was all pretty easy. In theory.

What she had forgotten to factor into this brilliant theory of hers, was the precarious placement of her ridiculous high heels just at the edge of the bed. They were, it appeared, to be the metaphorical spanner in the works.

Instead of the quiet, nonintrusive shuffling she had planned, Lizzie manages to simultaneously step on and trip over her shoes, sending her plummeting to the floor with an undignified 'Ah!'

Her acrobatic display manages to stir Darcy (who, perhaps, was not as asleep as she had been led to believe), who bounds out of bed at the clutter.

"Lizzie?" he asks in the dark, quite noticeably staying away from her still, "Are you ok?"

"Mrrumph."

"Pardon?"

What is it – 2 am? How was Darcy so freaking proper still when it is 2am? Lizzie removes her face from the carpet (which is probably comfier than her bed. _Goddamn, even the man's carpet was perfect_) enough to speak discernable words.

"No. The ground is much too close to my person."

He doesn't seem to understand.

"Pardon?"

Frustrated at his politeness, Lizzie may have snapped a little, "I'm on the floor Darcy!"

"Oh."

And that is the entirety his response. He utters one syllable, then nothing. Lizzie groans to herself as she rolls over to facilitate easier breathing (because apparently that's important).

"Woah Darcy," sarcasm oozes from her words, "Don't rush over to help me too quickly."

"I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"By _not _helping me?"

"By not doing…" he hesitates, searching for the appropriate words, "_Other _things."

"Other –" light-bulb flicks on, "_Oh_."

"Quite."

"You pulled back before." Ok, that sounds a tad more angry and hurt than she had planned.

"That was before you started wearing my clothes."

There is a beat of silent and Lizzie tries with _all her might _not to say it – to not say the instant retort that is floating around in her head. But she just has to.

"I could take them off."

"_Lizzie_…"

And damn that rumble is sexy. She can just imagine that look in his eyes – that _I-can-wear- a-bowtie-and-look-like-a-newsie-but-I-am-still-dow n-right-gorgeous-and-I-want-you-now _look. Lizzie decides she wants to see it.

"_Will_," she drags out his name with a smile she knows he can hear in her voice, "If you don't help me off this floor than I will just stay here the rest of the night."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

And then there is silence. He doesn't move back to bed and she doesn't move off the floor. It is the oddest standoff she has ever been a part of (and growing up with a sister like Lydia and a mother like hers, standoffs were a frequent occurrence). She tries not to giggle at the absurdity of it all – here she is, lying on the floor in the dark, refusing to move until William Darcy, who is refusing to move from around his side of the bed, comes and helps her to her feet. Really. It is ridiculous.

She decides that, despite its unnatural comfort, she doesn't fancy spending the rest of the night sleeping on the floor. So Lizzie, quite naturally, goes about guilt-ing Darcy into helping her.

"I do hope this doesn't screw my back up _again_," she moans sorrowfully, letting out a heavy sigh, "I would hate to have to go all the way back home and not stay in San Fran like I was planning to…"

He doesn't budge. "My chiropractor is excellent. There would be no need to leave."

"But the one back home is a friend of the family," she counters, trying again not to smile, "It would feel wrong seeing anyone else."

Darcy remains silent. And motionless. Damn.

"And to think," she sighs again, "I was planning on staying for weeks, maybe even months. But now…now I'll just have to go back home."

Still no movement.

"Because my boyfriend doesn't love me enough to help me up off the floor when I ask him so very nicely."

Emotional blackmail never fails. He relents, edging around the bed as one might a lion's enclosure.

"You're being highly irrational," he says with what she supposed he intended to be authority but came off as little more than worried, "You are quite capable of getting up on your own."

She scoffs, "_I'm _irrational? Says the man who refuses to even _look _at his girlfriend."

He grunts in response, finally coming into view (kind of – his shadowy outline became visible at the end of the bed). He was still shirtless. Lizzie liked this. When he paused again she rolled her eyes and thrust her hands into the air.

"Come now, Darcy," she said with an air of condescension she was sure he wouldn't like, "Your fair maiden awaits your assistance!"

Now it was his turn to scoff. He seems to have relaxed a bit (a very little bit) as he takes her hands. He makes some grumbling remark about the contradiction of calling oneself fair when the reason they required assistance was due to a tipsy encounter with her shoes before pulling her up to her feet. And if Lizzie happens to spring to her feet a little too enthusiastically and finds herself pressed firmly against Darcy's chest as a result, it is _completely_ by accident.

"Thank you, sir," she says with a smile at his obvious inner turmoil, and lets go of his hands to wrap them around his neck. His hands seem to decide their fate long before his brain does, trailing softly around her back to rest at the curve of her spine. The sensation makes Lizzie's skin tingle.

"That was unfair," he says stiffly, making a point of looking her in the eye rather than the rest of her body.

"Haven't you heard, Darcy?" she leans towards him, her lips all but brushing his own, "All's fair in love and war."

As he closes the very small distance between them she congratulates herself on her persuasive abilities.

* * *

**Lesson 10: Lizzie Likes How Darcy Says **_**'Elizabeth'**_

Lizzie never did like her real name. In fact her entire life she had begrudged the fact that her parents had named her Elizabeth when they didn't even call her that. Now she had her stupid full name that no one ever used on all her important documents and it just didn't feel right. That name wasn't her. She didn't like it. Not one iota.

Until, of course, her date with Darcy.

She pushes him onto the mattress, taking great pleasure in the way he smiles up at her with his eyes all dark and broody. Before she can make the move herself Darcy, the cheeky adorable prat, grabs her hips and pulls her down with him. She somehow manages to stop herself from falling flat on her face on top of him (although that thought is not entirely unappealing), finding herself straddling his waist instead.

She gasps and smiles at him, faking outrage very badly, "William!"

He smiles that same cheeky dark smile of his as he slides a hand up to rest at the base of her neck, pulling her face down to his own. Lizzie feels some very delightful tingles run through her system when he chuckles and rumbles, "Yes, _Elizabeth?_"

Well _damn_.

Lizzie decided then and there that she would never ever again scrutinize what people found erotic or attractive. Because it was apparent that she had a thing for her first name. When it was spoken by William Darcy, that is.

Never had her name sounded quite so sexy as it did just then. It creates a nice little warm feeling in her stomach and forces her toes to curl completely without her permission and she loves it.

Lizzie places her hands on his chest and freezes her descent not 3 inches from his lips. She smiles and looks him in the eye.

"Say that again."

All she receives in response is a raised eyebrow and a caress from where his hands rest on her thighs.

"My name," she laughs, leaning a little closer, "Say my name again."

The smirk that breaks out across his features is something that she will forever store in her memory. He pecks her lips softly before murmuring against them, "_My Elizabeth_."

And just like that, Lizzie becomes totally incapable of coherent thought.

* * *

**Lesson 11: William Darcy is a Liar**

William Darcy promised no 'tomfoolery'.

There was much tomfoolery.

He also promised not to cuddle.

But he does cuddle.

All. Night.

Lizzie doesn't mind.

* * *

**Lesson 12: William Darcy is **_**NOT **_**a Morning Person**

Despite the fact that he's always first one in the office, and that he likes things to be so well ordered all the time, William Darcy is _not _a morning person. Such a revelation comes when Gigi – his darling sister whom he loves with all his heart and would do any number of things for – interrupts his slumber.

Lizzie, who had been dozing blissfully in and out of consciousness for about twenty minutes by this time, had heard Gigi coming a mile away. She guessed, from the groan that emanated from the body molded against her own, that Darcy had too.

"William!" Gigi's agitated voice carried down the hallway outside, "We had a deal!"

Lizzie tries to extract herself before things get weird (she does _not _want to be caught naked with an equally naked William Darcy by his little sister), but the arm wrapped around her waist halts her escape.

"No," is all he gives in way of explanation.

"Will," she implores, attempting to remove his hand from her person, "I have to get out of this bed."

"No," he repeats in little more than a grumble, pulling her closer still and burying his head in her shoulder.

"Will," she tried to struggle but its futile – he's just too strong (and perhaps, just perhaps, she doesn't really want him to let her go), "At least let me put a shirt on."

He grunts again, this time wrapping a leg around her own so they are well and truly entangled, and lets out a heavy sigh against her neck. She guesses that's a 'no' too then.

Gigi's voice is most definitely closer when she calls out again, "You told me you would wake me up when you got home and debrief about your date with Lizzie! You _promised!_"

Lizzie raises an eyebrow – someone would be explaining that later. After he stopped being grumpy. Just as Lizzie is about to try and reason with him one last time to let her go, Gigi Darcy bursts into the room already looking perfectly put-together in her pink nightgown, hair barely knotted, and fluffy slippers adorning her feet.

"William Darcy!" she exclaims loudly, as she marches into the room, "You told me you would wake me up! You said-"

Silence encases the room and Lizzie watches as Gigi's mouth drops open at the sight before her – Lizzie Bennet snuggling with William Darcy. And they're both naked (though covered by an ample amount of blankets so that _bits _aren't on display).

Oh Spite.

"_LIZZIE?!"_ Gigi screeches and for a moment Lizzie is afraid she disapproves of finding her here in the morning. The smile that almost breaks the younger girl's face and the squeal she lets out suggests otherwise.

All Lizzie can offer in response is hesitant wave and a meek, "Morning Gigi."

It is at this moment that Lizzie learns William Darcy, despite being as agreeable as a disgruntled two-year old in the morning, is actually capable of proper speech.

"Gigi," he grumbles into Lizzie's shoulder, still not opening his eyes, "I love you, but bugger off."

"But what…" she looks awed and ecstatic – like a contestant on one of those 'surprise make-over' shows when they see the final product, "What happened here?"

Lizzie doesn't know how to answer that without making everyone really uncomfortable. Luckily the man still currently wrapped around her has the perfect response.

"_Happening_ – present tense. Date's not over. And you're interrupting," he tugs Lizzie a little closer, "Now leave."

Gigi crosses her arms as she walks further into the room, "William, you're being rude."

"And you're being annoying. Go away."

Lizzie learns that when the anger isn't directed towards her, Grumpy Morning Darcy is kind of adorable. Gigi, obviously immune to any threat her brother could ever make against her, begins to sway on her heels and smile wider.

"Sooo," she says happily, "I'm guessing the date went well."

"No – it was awful, clearly," Morning Darcy has sarcasm in spades, "Now leave."

"Nope – you promised me a debrief."

"_Gigi_…" Darcy's tone is dark and rumbly and full of warning. It causes all kinds of reactions in Lizzie that feel entirely inappropriate given that Gigi is still in the room.

"What did you have for dinner?" the young Darcy-girl suddenly materializes beside the bed, looking at Lizzie with her big bright eyes and a smile so broad it brings an all new meaning to the phrase 'ear-to-ear', "Oh did you have the Spatchcock? They do a mean spatchcock."

Lizzie feels the rumble from behind her that is different from similar sounds earlier this morning – this one sounds exasperated.

"Do _not _mention Spatchcock."

"Manners William," Gigi seems to be having way too much fun with annoying her brother. Lizzie thinks she could learn a few things from the girl.

"Says the girl who bursts into other people's bedrooms uninvited."

"So," she gazes happily at Lizzie – it should not be physically possible for someone to look so happy and awake at this hour, "Did you go for a walk along The Mariner? I told him he should take you down there – it looks so pretty this time of year with the lights out and the-"

"We didn't walk along the Mariner," Darcy says, sounding more and more exacerbated by the second, "We ate dinner. We _attempted _to dance with unfavorable results, and we drank a lot of champagne. That is the extent of the details you will _ever _receive on the matter. Now l-"

"You danced!" Gigi looks very excited and even claps enthusiastically, "_And _drank bubbly! Oh fabulous! Tell me Lizzie, did you like his suit? Because he wanted to go with the grey one but I told him that black was much more dapper and was guaranteed to match anything you wore. Wouldn't you agree?"

Lizzie is tempted to say that the suit was great but the pajama pants were infinitely easier to take off, but she thinks that might make things a little weird (like they weren't weird enough already). She is stopped by making any comment whatsoever by the man (or troll, she wasn't sure given his attitude) behind her.

"If you are not out of this room in ten seconds I will disinherit you," he threatens, eyes still not open and voice still all deep and husky and much too alluring for this time of the morning. Gigi sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes at her brother.

"You could have just asked nicely." All she receives in reply is a grunt and an indignant sniff (the man wasn't capable of opening his eyes, but he remained able to sniff indignantly. It was so very Darcy). Gigi gives Lizzie one last excited smile (complete with squeal) before bidding her good day. Just when Lizzie closes her eyes, sure she is safe from the younger Darcy, she hears the unmistakable sound of a photo being taken. Lizzie's eyes opened immediately to see Gigi standing before them, phone in hand and eyes scheming. Lizzie opens her mouth ready to berate Gigi. However, someone beats her to it.

"Gigi!" Darcy thunders (_H__oly hell! Her ears!_). Gigi backs away quickly with a smile much too devious to be any good.

"Fitz won't believe me if I don't have photographic proof!"

"That better not go up on Twitter!" Lizzie calls after her (the thought of millions of people seeing her naked – covered or not – with Darcy is too horrifying to think about. If she won't film in the bathroom she most certainly won't allow 'morning after' photos to go up on a public forum. After all, she has no idea what kind of a mess she looks like right now).

"Just to Fitz!" Gigi calls as she leaves the room, "Promise!"

The sound of the door closing signals the exit of Gigi, which Lizzie is most thankful for.

"I can't believe she took a photo," Lizzie says quietly, still feeling awkward. Darcy only grunts in response, tightening his hold on her once more and resettling himself. His mood hasn't improved apparently. His reluctance to let her go hasn't changed any either.

"Will, I really need a shower."

"No."

Lizzie can't help but smile – he's kind of adorable. And she _is_ pretty comfortable.

"Are you always like this in the morning?" she asks over her shoulder, feeling his breath becoming heavier and slower, clearly fading into unconsciousness. He pecks her shoulder affectionately and nuzzles his nose in her hair (why that was endearing Lizzie didn't know, but the fact that he was willing to put his nose that close to her person when she knew fully well that she was sweaty and therefore probably smelly, spoke volumes about his affection. And that thought makes Lizzie's tummy tingle).

"Only one way to find out…"

He lets the comment hang in the air and she can't help but smile. She guesses she will just have to stay over more often to answer her question. Lizzie closes her eyes, a smile on her face as she accepts the fact that she's going to be spending more mornings (and evenings) in William Darcy's bed.

She can't wait for date number two.

* * *

_And thats it - all finished! Hope you all liked it, it was a lot of fun to write. I__ would really love you to review, they honestly do brighten my day :)_

_Until next time, _

_Grae xo_


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